The Pond in the Backyard
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Because family dynamics are never quite what you want them to be.


_**Written for the 'As A Child I' challenge by fan-freak121. My character is James Potter the 1st. There will be second part involving Lily Evans., so hang around for that, next chapter. Part canon/part fanon. Ok, mostly fanon and speculation. HP not mine**_

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James dug another hole in his mother's rose garden, pleased with the deepness and the mud that covered the flowers around him. His hands were black, covered in the wet muck up to his elbows, and his knees, too, were hidden behind mud. His clothes-a sweater and some Muggle jeans, which had argued with his mother to wear-were decently clean in the sense that he could see bits and pieces of them, rather than just being hidden under layers of wet dirt. His mother, in one of her moods, had sent her only son outside to play and 'get out of the way while I clean up for your sister.' James' sister was a twenty-four year old who rarely ever bothered to come home, much to Dorea Potter's irritation. But, for the most part of his young life, James existed in his own universe and rarely noticed if his sister was there or not. He was seven, and his life to date consisted of digging holes in his mum's garden and then filling them back up.

Sitting down, James looked around the garden around him. It was large and there had been a lot of parties held in it over the past who know how many years since the Potters had decided to suddenly be rich and buy a fancy house. There was, of course, the large and rather boastful rose garden that James' mum had been working on for ages. There were plenty of different types of trees, some that stood tall and proud and others that drooped way over, bending as if to give playing children a hug. Plenty of butterflies with bright wings and lots of bugs that James spent hours examining with a microscope. In one corner was a large pond that James' great-great-grandfather had dug up over a hundred years ago. James liked to play in it, spending hours sitting in it with his pants rolled up, looking for frogs and wishing that there were other kids somewhere nearby to talk to. He was the youngest person around for miles. Even in his family, the closest person to his age was an eighteen year old second cousin that James didn't really like after that one time the girl had dunked his head in the pond. There wasn't even a playground, because Mrs. Potter thought that wooden play sets were tacky and tree houses were dangerous. For the most part, if James wanted somewhere to play, he'd go hide out in the attic.

"What are you doing, child?" asked James' father, Charlus, crouching down next to his son. The boy jumped, giving his father a guilty look, before grabbing the shovel and sitting on it, which, in hindsight, was not such a good idea. It rather hurt his bum. "You're mother won't like this too much, will she?" Charlus asked, waving a hand at the large hole. "Can't you just dig holes in the pond? No, I suppose not, wouldn't want to disturb the toadies. What was it this time, then?"

"Lissy's coming over."

Charlus gave his son a puzzled look. Elisabeth, James' much older sister and Charlus' first child, had only come home three times since James was born, so the two siblings didn't really know each other much. Certainly not enough for James to be upset about it. His sister was more of a legend to him, something that might have existed but was rather unconfirmed. She was a traveler, an explorer of sorts and Mrs. Potter didn't much approve of children who only came home every now and then.

"If you're going run off, don't bother running home." she had said last time, when Lissy's visit over Easter had ended rather poorly.

"Mum's kicked me out of the house because Lissy is coming over and she says I'll only get in the way. But I want to say hi to Lissy when she shows up-she always brings lovely presents, like sweets and jumpers from Peru and toys."

Charlus laughed. "How would you know all that stuff is from her? The last time she visited, you weren't even four! You were still in nappies, James."

"But I always remember people who give me presents, Dad. I like presents." James was rather honest, as most children of that age are, especially with his father.

"And your mother always remembers children who do not come home. She could at least write a letter, wouldn't you think?" Charlus sighed, looking down at his young son. "Promise me this, child, when you get older, send letters home and visit every couple of months. It will make your mother happy. It will make _me _happier, since I would not have to listen to her complain about her children forgetting her."

"Okay, Dad." said James, wondering why his father was asking this. James was _seven. _He wasn't even going to Hogwarts for another _four_ years. His father nodded and stood up, scowling at the mud on his pants.

"Have to change now, I suppose. You should, too. Elisabeth will be coming in a few hours and you'll want to look sharp for her, won't you? Come on, then, child, go clean off. Perhaps Mira will be willing to help. Mira?" he called, beckoning at one of the many short, leathery house-elves that occupied the house, serving the Potters.

"Yes, Master? Is Master and Little Master wanting something? Mira is ready to help, just say what Master wants."

"Can you take James here to go clean off?"

"Of course, Master." said Mira, bowing. "Come on, Little Master, let's be going to clean." James nodded, getting up and following after the little elf, who didn't look, or even acknowledge, James as they climbed up the stairs, to the third floor to where James' rooms were.

_Rooms_, actually, was a fairly indecent way of describing where James lived. It was almost his own flat, just without any place to store food, and, _of course_, he didn't pay rent. There were two bedrooms, each larger than most houses' sitting rooms, with elaborate beds and expensive furniture that were almost two centuries old. James, terrified of breaking something due to death threats from his mother, didn't use either room, instead choosing to sleep in what most would had considered a sitting room. He had a couch, pushed up against one wall, and a regular bed alongside a bunk bed. The four walls-really, everything in the room-was red and gold, celebrating James' love of Gryffindor and his father's hope of his son's house placement. He had a toy chest filled with old stuffed animals that he had only used maybe once, along with several toy brooms-his mum didn't want him to have a real one yet. There was a Falmouth Falcon Quidditch Robe on one wall, signed by the previous owner, and several pictures of a young James wearing tight suits, sitting in between his parents. Pushed up against another wall were two book cases full of old text books and adventure books for boys and even a romance novel his mum had left up her two years ago and forgotten. He had three bathrooms scattered across the third floor, each one fancier then the one before it. Usually, if James brought someone over, he stood around sheepishly stood around as they admired his room and commented on how fantastic his life must be.

"Good enough." was his usual answer. "I've got everything I need, don't I?"

There was a clattering sound downstairs, and several voices talking, rather loudly.

"What do you mean, _husband_? When did you get _married_? Why didn't we know about this? I'm your _mother_, Elisabeth! Your _mother_! How could you? And to _him?_"

"We did it because we love each other, Mother! It doesn't matter what you think, we love each other! I don't need my mum to tell me who to marry and how to marry and why to marry! I'm twenty-four, Mother, you're not in charge of me, anymore!"

There was more shouting as James, his ear pressed against the floor, trying to pretend that he's only listening for his mum to call him downstairs for supper, which probably won't be happening now. Last time Lissy was her, it had all ended with peas splattered across the wall and James sitting on the back porch, oblivious to it all. He wasn't really sure what had happened, but he knew whatever it was was the reason Lissy hadn't come home for years. But there were foot steps on the stair case and then a young, male voice, saying:

"Hello! Anyone up here?" It's an odd sort of voice, similar to what he's heard near where one of his auntie's live, in Scotland. Then there is a boy, around Lissy's age, with scruffy brown hair and a worn brown suit. He wore bright green Vans and much too short jeans that ended several inches above his ankles. He had bright blue eyes and a kind enough face, which was tan, but, with a glance at his hands, showed that he was probably much paler. "Hello!" said the man again. "Lissy said there'd be a little boy up here. I'm Riesling Reisende. Your sister's husband, I guess. Your mum doesn't sound too pleased about it, though, does she?" Riesling laughed as there is another crashing sound downstairs.

"I'm James. I'm seven and a half."

"Twenty-six." At James' face, Riesling smiled as he settled on James' couch, looking around at the room. "Old, aren't I? Nice room you've got here, James. Very...spunky."

"Thanks." It was the first time anyone had ever really complimented his room rather then just gape at it in wonder. Most people, even James himself sometimes, couldn't believe he lived in such a elaborate place.

"You like it here?"

"Yeah. But I don't really like Lissy. She's always leaving and making Mum mad and never coming home. I haven't seen her since I was four, but Mum got mad at her. She hardly ever even writes, anymore."

"Oh." Riesling nodded. "Your sister, Lis, she's a bit airy, isn't she. Not always there. But she's a sweet enough girl. Busy, yes. Forgetful, definitely. But her heart _is _in the right spot, James. Would it help if I asked her to start writing you lot more? Or should I just write letters and fake it as her?" Riesling shook his head. "I've never really understood you people. Staying home and chasing people and jobs and money to make you happy. Out there, out in nature, it's the little thing like insects or beautiful flowers that make me happy"

"Is she happy? Lissy, I mean. Is she happy with insects and pretty flowers and being married to you and not writing letters to us?" asked James.

"I think so, yeah. She's always seemed to enjoy sleeping under the stars and camp fires and just being outside. We travel a lot, so we're always picking up new friends and new languages. That's how she met me, actually. In Sweden, when a mate of mine convinced me to go looking for some giants, because he thought _they _were what the Muggles call 'the abominable snowman'."

"Oh. I guess, if she's happy...maybe just letters and Christmases would be fine. Could you guys try that?"

"Of course."

"JAMES CHARLUS POTTER! WHY ARE THERE HOLES IN MY ROSE GARDEN?!" shrieked Mrs. Potter downstairs, having been walked outside by her husband to calm her down. Looking guilty, James shrugged at Riesling before hurrying downstairs to grab his shovel. Maybe next time, he'd dig the holes in the pond, like his father had suggested. He wouldn't get in trouble for digging holes in the pond, would he? The pond in the back yard is probably a very safe place to be right now, compared to the rest of the Potter house.

_**/**_

_**Remember, guys. Obscure chapter titles. I don't why, but this one was just appealing. I think we used to have a pond at my old house, but it was really shallow and our dog would drink out of it. Riesling is vaguely (VAGUELY) based somewhere between David Tennant and Matt Smith's rendition of the Tenth and Eleventh Doctor, respectively. I was in a Doctor Who mood. (cries b/c she watched the 9th Doctor die last night and hasn't gotten over it yet) **_

Reisende is German for 'traveler' of sorts.


End file.
